On A Day Like Any Other
by crazytheatregeek
Summary: When Christine got her chance to shine, the girls of the corps de ballet realized that they should too. On this fateful day, the ballerinas of the Opera Populaire decided to fight for their rights. Purely ridiculous.


**Hey there! This fic is purely ridiculous. The idea came to me when my friend (who happens to also be my beta) was on the phone with me and we were just spouting the stupidest fanfic ideas, just whatever came to our minds. One of my pointless ideas was something like "What if all the ballerinas went on a rampage and wreaked havoc through the opera house?" and this is what came of it. I also noticed that there are practically no stories about the corps de ballet, which a)doesn't make that much sense and b)just makes my story better. :) Oh, and characters are a bit OOC at points. Furthermore, I just thought I'd randomly add that I did not make up the character Jammes, she is actually a very minor character in the beginning of the Leroux book. I made up all the ballerinas other than her and Meg, though.**

**Thanks to MrsDeppQueenObsessorGoddesss, my beta! **

**Disclaimer: Are you kidding?**

It was a day like any other.

The young girls of the corps de ballet had just got out of rehersal-except for Mademoiselle Christine Daae, of course, due to the fact that within a matter of days she had gone from being one of them to being an opera star. The girls scampered up the staircase to their dormitories, giggling and gossiping about who said what to who and how so-and-so just completely stabbed so-and-so in the back, after being friends for, you know, just _sooooo _long. Once they reached the rather plain dormitory, a pale, pretty girl named Jammes flounced over to her bed, flopped down on it in a less-than graceful manner and sighed dramatically.

"What, Jammes?" Another girl asked, sounding annoyed and flipping her dark hair over her shoulder. They were all used to Jammes and her constant state of discontent.

"Well, you see, my dear Monique," Jammes said, ignoring Monique's irritation, "I was just thinking about how, should I say, _unfair_ it is that Christine gets to go off and be all high-and-mighty all of a sudden, just because she can sing a few notes. I mean, are the rest of us too worthless to be able to do anything other than twirl on our toes? Have we no talent? I for one say it is corrupt and unjust. It is only because that lover of hers is the patron!" She finished with a theatrical flourish.

"Jammes," a tall, slender girl named Antoinette said wearily, "Christine can sing, dear. Much better than Carlotta-who, in my opinion, is a pompous crow. Wouldn't you rather have Christine be the leading diva than Carlotta, who treats us like the scum of the opera house?"

"That ISN'T THE POINT!!" Jammes snapped. "This is about RECOGNITION!! We are not some little good-for-nothing lowlifes! We have talent!" She paused briefly. " I know _I _do, anyway! We should demand to be recognized for it! I say, let's break that old hag Giry's cane in half, and may she never bang it again!"

"_Excuse_ me, what was that remark about my mother?" Meg Giry said angrily. Everybody ignored her.

"I hate to say this," a copper-haired girl named Camille remarked, in a wondering voice, "But I think Jammes might be right."

Everyone stared at her. There was a long, awkward silence.

"She's gone mad," Monique exclaimed.

"No, _listen _to me, will you!" Camille continued angrily. "We are very underrated. There are other things we can do, other things we're better at than dancing! Christine got her chance to shine! Why shouldn't we?!"

There was a murmur of agreement.

"I say," Jammes said forcefully, "We let them know who will be making the decisions from now on."

That fateful day, the little girls of the corps de ballet became the tutu-clad version of an army.

They were going to fight to be recognized.

--

The girls stood in a huddle on the roof of the opera. They chose that place to meet because people seldom went there, save for the occasional drunken stagehand or prop master. All the girls carried makeshift weapons, in case they needed to get their point across by force. Most of these consisted of scraps of metal, wood, or glass, except for Camille, who had a dagger. No one asked why.

The only girl who wasn't there was Meg, who had protested doing anything against her mother or Christine. They had bound her, gagged her, and locked her in a closet.

"So," Jammes said, thrilled to be somewhat in charge and to have people listen to her without rolling their eyes. "We all know the plan of action?" Nods and murmurs of agreement followed. Each girl looked determined and brave. "Let's move."

They slunk down the stairs stealthily, looking around for any suspicious eyes and trying to tread softly in their pointe shoes. The army of tulle headed to their first target-Madame Giry. The strict ballet mistress was kindly at heart, but she really was keeping them down. Therefore, she had to go.

A small girl named Gabrielle knocked on the door to Madame Giry's flat. She grinned wickedly at her companions before saying in a sweet, innocent voice, "Madame Giry? May I come in, please?" The door opened. Madame Giry looked surprised to see all of them there at once. Before she could even say anything, though, they swarmed her. After a bit of a struggle, the ballet mistress was tied to an upright ironing board.

Antoinette grabbed the cane Madame Giry was always banging at them while they danced. She directed her words to the strict woman. "Straighter!" she barked, and banged the cane on the floor loudly. "Your posture is terrible! Do you even have a spine?" She banged the cane again. "Why do I even bother with you? You are a complete disgrace!"

Bang, bang.

"And don't even get me started on your footwork!" Antoinette finished this off with one final bang of the cane. She stared at the ballet mistress defiantly. "You see what it's like?!"

With that, the girls marched out of the room, leaving Madame Giry there.

"That went well," Jammes remarked.

Target number two was none other than the managers. There wasn't much to be done about them, the girls simply found them annoying.

Andre and Firman were strutting about on the grand staircase. The corps de ballet congregated at the base of the stairs, staring up at them. The managers quickly took notice. "Yes?" Firman asked uneasily. He didn't seem to be very fond of children, or adolescents, or anyone who didn't earn him vast sums of money.

On cue, all of the girls made ugly faces at the pompous managers and scampered away.

The self-absorbed diva La Carlotta was next on the list. She was never a joy to work with, shouting randomly in Italian and shoving them out of the way, even if they weren't in her way. Nobody liked her, really. Nobody ever had. It seemed like the only reason she hadn't ever been sacked for good was that the managers-past and present-maintained a healthy fear of her. She was rather frightful.

The army made their way to Carlotta's dressing room, where she spent her time admiring herself. They noticed upon aproaching it, however, that Carlotta's swarthy boyfriend, Piangi, was already at the door, calling for her obnoxiously in his trilling accent.

Monique grabbed a two-by-four that had seemingly come out ofnowhere and bashed Piangi across the head with it. He fell to the ground, and the girls burst into Carlotta's dressing room without knocking.

The diva gasped audibly. She was standing at her large mirror wearing a dressing gown and a ridiculously tall wig. The dressing gown was a deep purple, the wig was blue.

Snatching the wig off of her head, Carlotta rounded on the girls, who pretended to look terrified. "'Ow dare you leetle brats invade-" She was cut off, however, by the ballerinas throwing a large fishing net over her and trapping her in it. The diva screamed, and Camille used her dagger to cut a small hole in the fishing net so she could stuff a sock in Carlotta's mouth.

They carted her to the roof, where they tied her so she dangled upside-down off of the edge. Dusting off their hands on their fluffy skirts, the ballet troupe headed to their final target-Christine.

Christine was also in her dressing room, but instead of gazing at herself in the mirror she was curiously examining a red rose with a black ribbon tied around it. She smiled brightly when her friends entered the room, but her smile faltered when they all marched toward her, looking dutiful. "Now," Jammes said, and the corps de ballet swarmed Christine and lifted her above their heads as if she had just won them a football game, except they held her tightly so she couldn't break free.

"Jammes, what the hell?!" Christine exclaimed angrily.

"Nothing personal, dear." Jammes said. "Just a kidnapping." Christine stared at her blankly, at loss for words. Holding Christine securely, the girls made their way to the stage.

Surprisingly, no one was there. They set Christine on her feet, but Camille held her there with her dagger at Christine's neck.

"What now?" Gabrielle asked, sounding lost. "No one's here to hear our plea."

"Does anyone have a megaphone?" Antoinette asked hopefully, glancing around as if expecting to see one concealed behind someone's back.

"They're not invented yet, idiot." Monique said witheringly.

The girls decided that they should all scream as loud as they possibly could, and eventually people would come to see what was happening. It worked, though by the time the theater was full of opera staff they were all gasping for air and somewhat blue in the face.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the opera," Jammes began, sounding official, "The corps de ballet would like to make a few announcements regarding, well, ourselves. Today," she said dramatically, "Myself and my friends among me accomplished quite a lot. We bound our ballet mistress to an ironing board. We harassed the managers. We even captured La Carlotta in a fishing net and dangled her off of the roof!" The audience gasped, and a few people cheered.

"Last but not least, ladies and gentlemen, we kidnapped and are holding captive Mademoiselle Christine Daae!" Jammes finished, and the girls parted, showing Camille and Christine to the audience.

"Oh, mercy," said a stagehand in the front row, and he fainted, hitting the floor with a loud thump because no one had cared enough to catch him.

"And why did we do this?" Monique took over. "To prove a point. To prove that we are capable of a lot, and if we don't get what we want, bad things will happen! We can do more than dance! Christine got her chance, and we think that we should too!"

"Ready, girls?" Gabrielle asked with vicious defiance. "Show them what you can do!"

A girl with sandy hair and freckles leapt to the front. "I can do a cartwheel!!" She yelled to the audience. The girl, Adelaide, sprung into the tentative beginning of a cartwheel and crumpled to the floor. A few audience members clapped hesitantly.

Another girl, short and rather round with big brown eyes, trotted up to face the audience. "I'm a painter!" She cried. "LOOK!" The girl held up a canvas that came seemingly from nowhere that depicted a few colorful blobs that vaguely resembled a human figure. There was a prolonged silence.

"It's CUBISM!!" The girl shrieked, sounding hurt. "I wouldn't expect you to understand!!" She ran offstage, sobbing.

Now Jammes ran back up. "I, too, am talented!!" She exclaimed. "Like Mademoiselle Christine over there, I, Jammes, am a SINGER!!" The audience was silent. The other ballerinas shook their heads in dismay. Jammes burst into song.

"TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR, HOW I WONDER WHAT YOU ARE!" She sounded like she had swallowed a porcupine, a whistle, and a ball of yarn and then was trying to scream while gargling with cherry Kool Aid. The audience groaned and covered their ears. The ballerinas looked embarrassed to know her. Suddenly, a voice came from Box 5, which appeared to be empty.

"Alright, that's quite enough, _STOP!"_

Everyone, including Jammes for once, shut up. They all looked quizzically at Box 5, as though expecting someone to materialize there.

An incredibly thin man wearing a white mask and suit walked onstage. "I figured I might as well just come over here, since this is where everyone else is." He said. Christine gave a slight gasp of recognition, and Camille tightened her hold.

"THE OPERA GHOST!!" Gabrielle shrieked and fainted into the orchestra pit.

"Oh, please, as if you didn't all know I existed anyway," The masked man said, sounding annoyed, in response to the sudden gasping audience.

"Look, girls." He turned to the corps de ballet, looking businesslike. "While I have to say I appreciate what you've done today-very clever, very original, and for the most part rather amusing, I just feel that a few things need to be said." The man walked over to them, gesturing with his hands.

"First and most importantly, we simply _cannot_ have two parties running the opera by force. I mean, really. That's what _I_ do. You're moving in on my territory. I don't like it. Especially not the really obvious things you've copied from me, like kidnapping Christine-for God's sake, let her go-_thank_ you- and harassing the managers and binding Madame Giry to an ironing board."

A brief silence followed. "When did you-" Antoinette began, but was cut off by the opera ghost.

"Secondly, I need to say something to-what's her name? Jammes. Jammes, girl, come here." Jammes walked tentatively forward. "You claimed to be a singer?" The man in the mask asked her. She nodded, looking hopeful.

"Mademoiselle, I am very sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you cannot sing. Period. I do apologize, but if it makes you feel any better, in the future I've heard you don't need any talent at all to become famous in that field."

Jammes, who had looked hurt, perked up. "Really?" She exclaimed. "You're serious?"

"Unfortunatly." The opera ghost grimaced. "Have you ever heard of Hannah Montana or High School Musical?" Jammes shook her head. The man sighed. "Just rest assured, miss, people of your talent level will one day be famous singers."

Jammes beamed. "Thanks, Mr. Mask Man!" She exclaimed. There was a loud bang, and the opera ghost disappeared in a burst of flames. The audience walked away, muttering, leaving the corps de ballet alone and defeated on the stage.

--

That night, the girls of the ballet were strewn around their dormitories, depressed. Christine had been safely returned, Madame Giry had been set free, Carlotta had been hauled up, and the managers had been sent to a group therapy class to work out their insecurities. Piangi had yet to regain consciousness, but the doctor said he would within a week or so.

"Well, this sucks." Monique said bluntly. Murmurs of agreement and a few groans followed.

"For some reason, though, I have this strange feeling that we forgot about something," Gabrielle said thoughtfully. "But I suppose if it was important, we would remember." Her friends nodded in agreement.

--

A week later, a nearly dead Meg Giry was discovered in a closet with a chair against the handle.

"Oh, wait!" Gabrielle exclaimed. "Now I remember!!"

**Well, that was my story? Did you like it? Did you hate it? Tell me either way!**


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